


we’re sick like animals, we play pretend

by suzukiblu



Series: everybody knows we're just a couple animals [5]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Genji Shimada, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blood and Injury, Denial of Feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Resolved Sexual Tension, Self-Worth Issues, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 17:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu
Summary: McCree keeps watching him like he wants something.Genji still can’t figure out what he could possibly want.





	we’re sick like animals, we play pretend

**Author's Note:**

> This is the end, kids: a.k.a., the one where the rating goes up. If you like soundtracks with your fics, I wrote this listening to Bear’s Den’s “When You Break” on repeat.

Jesse spends the day pretending to sleep against the wall while Shimada shreds training bots and Lupe chases after him, barking excited warnings. There’s a new guy, because it’s been long enough that Shimada _ain’t_ the new guy anymore, and he’s giving Jesse that look strangers give him nowadays. 

“Lose something?” Jesse asks with a pleasant smile, and the guy jumps. 

“Uh--no, sorry,” he says, and then finds an excuse to be on the opposite side of the gym. Jesse watches him go for a moment--the man’s going to have a devil of a time adjusting to Overwatch if the sight of someone without a daemon in their immediate vicinity is enough to unsettle him. Not his problem, though, because this new guy’s not somebody Gabe’s told him to get on with _(not somebody intense and sharp-edged and silent, not somebody who carried Lupe back to him, not somebody who wants nothing and yet SOMETHING to do with him, whose daemon he’s held and still doesn’t even know the name of)._

Scrap metal flies past him and sticks in the wall. Shimada’s feeling particularly energetic today, it seems. 

.

.

.

McCree keeps following him around. Genji doesn’t know if that’s because his _daemon_ keeps following him around or if it’s something McCree actually wants to do himself. 

Well--Lupe is part of him, so obviously it’s something he wants to do himself. Genji just doesn’t understand why. He doesn’t understand McCree or his daemon, though, so that makes sense. 

He understands the feeling in his chest whenever he’s around them for too long, but there’s always a window to escape out of whenever that gets too bad. 

.

.

.

“Did you see him?” Lupe says dreamily, laying her head on her paws. 

“I’ve noticed the man once or twice, yeah,” Jesse says wryly. They’ve had this conversation a few times already. Lupe always gets useless when he’s this kind of stupid, though. All the more reason for him to _stop_ being stupid, except stopping hasn’t worked. All the usual ways he talks himself out of a crush don’t do shit when they’re going up against Genji Shimada, apparently. 

It shouldn’t be this hard. Shimada doesn’t even talk to him; nods or shrugs or shakes his head or just leaves altogether, most times. The only reason Jesse has even the vaguest idea of what his voice might sound like is because he’s heard him screaming in the infirmary and heard his voice modulator malfunction that time he got taken out by an EMP. It don’t exactly translate to polite small talk. 

Not that Jesse really cares about small talk. With Shimada, he don’t even care about being polite. He wants to grab the man by the arm and reel him in and _bite_ something--flesh or metal, it don’t matter. As long as Shimada feels it, one way or another. 

“You reckon she’ll come out and talk to me again?” Lupe asks, rolling onto her back and still sounding dreamy. 

“Don’t rightly know, darlin’,” Jesse says. He don’t even know why she came out the first time, except for _maybe_ that Shimada likes them. He don’t trust them, at least not on purpose, but Jesse’s _almost_ sure he likes them. 

Almost. 

“I hope so,” Lupe says, and Jesse sighs. 

.

.

.

“Behind you!” Lupe shouts. It’s the first time Genji kills someone on her say-so, but far, far from the last. 

.

.

.

Shimada, without comment, leans over and holds a comm to Lupe’s ear. She looks confused for a moment, then downright _lovestruck_. 

.

.

.

“She’s wonderful,” Himari sighs in their room that night. “If I could still fly--” 

She cuts herself off, and Genji doesn’t ask her to continue. There’s a lot he’d do if he were still his old self too. 

“I like her voice,” Himari says instead. “She has the loveliest voice.” 

“I know,” Genji says, because she does. 

So does her damn human, of course. 

.

.

.

Jesse and Lupe head into the infirmary because some damn fool wrenched McCree’s shoulder practically out of the socket during a sparring match. Nobody’s up front, so they let themselves into the back. Angela won’t mind, she--

Shimada’s sitting in front of Angela with his chest plate open. 

“Lupe!” his daemon twitters from inside him, brightening immediately, and Shimada--hesitates. 

“Oh, it’s you, it’s you!” Lupe says delightedly, running up to them and jumping up against the table Shimada’s sitting on. “Hey, hey, it’s you!” 

“It’s me!” Shimada’s daemon laughs, fluttering her feathers rather prettily. Lupe jumps up again, her tail wagging a mile a minute. Angela and Michael are staring at them, and Jesse drags a hand down his face with a wince. His one saving grace in all this has been that Shimada don’t like to have his daemon out much, so _his_ daemon can’t be seen being stupid over her. 

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Lupe croons. “The prettiest little bird in all of Gibraltar.” 

“Sweet-talker,” Shimada’s daemon says, hiding shyly behind her wing. The idea of Shimada’s daemon being _shy_ is still something Jesse has trouble wrapping his head around. 

“Pardon us,” he says, tipping his hat with his good arm. “Didn’t mean to interrupt nothing.” 

“Are you hurt?” Angela asks, zeroing in _immediately_ on his injured shoulder. 

“Just a mite,” Jesse admits. “It can wait.” 

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Angela says, then turns back to Shimada. “Genji, you’ll remember those--” 

“I remember,” Shimada cuts in, and Jesse blinks in surprise and feels--entirely too affected. He’s not even talking to _him_ , but--but god _damn_ , is what. Shimada has a pleasant voice despite the unusual mechanical echo and undercurrent of stress in it, and Jesse can’t help feeling a little stupid at the sound of it. He has an accent, same as his daemon, although his is a little thicker than hers. Maybe she talks more than him, not that Jesse’d know. 

Seems likely, though. 

“Alright.” Angela gives him a searching look; Michael gives the same look to his daemon. Shimada looks away. His daemon is already more occupied with looking at Lupe. “We’ll see you back here on Monday, then, but if you need anything before then our door is always open.” 

Shimada nods, and stands up to leave. It takes a bit more willpower than Jesse wants to admit to step out of his way. 

“Wait, wait!” Lupe blurts. “What’s your name?” 

Shimada pauses in the doorway, his shoulder _this close_ to Jesse’s, and his daemon hesitates for a moment. 

“Himari,” she says finally, shyly, and Shimada’s chest plate slides shut. 

_“Himari,”_ Lupe says, practically swooning. 

.

.

.

_“Lupe,”_ Himari says, practically swooning. 

.

.

.

“Lupe seems a bit strange about Himari,” Angela says neutrally. Jesse winces. 

“Well, darlin’, I’m a bit strange about Shimada,” he says. “So that sounds about right to me.”

“Mm,” she says, flipping through the files on her pad. “Gabe isn’t worried about that?” 

“ _I’m_ worried about that,” Jesse says. 

.

.

.

Genji still doesn’t have anyplace comfortable for Himari to sit in his bunk. He had perches and birdcages and birdhouses for her before, but none of those would work now. A pillow or something might be best, but he still hasn’t gotten around to requisitioning one. He doesn’t like the idea of someone noticing the change in his habits and wondering about it, even though it’s such a minor thing. It’d be too big for her anyway. 

For right now, there’s the padded compartment in his chest where she already spends almost all her time, or the not particularly supportive bare mattress. Neither option is ideal. 

There must be something he could get without having to requisition it, he thinks. Or maybe he could ask Ziegler--she already knows more about his habits than he’d like, but it’s just one minor thing. 

Maybe he could ask McCree, he thinks for a moment, then sighs and lays back on the bed. That is not an impulse he likes having. 

He wants to hurt something. Some _one_. He doesn’t want to be thinking about McCree and his big gloved hands and wondering just how he’d held Himari, when he’d held her. 

She liked the way he held her, but that’s all he knows. 

.

.

.

Jesse makes the god-awful mistake of asking Shimada to spar. Neither of them is particularly suited to a sustained up-close-and-personal fight, but Shimada has the advantage of not having very many pressure points to hit and having reinforced knees. Jesse has . . . well, not those things. 

“Ow,” he mutters, but worse than being semi-strangled by someone’s thighs is just whose thighs he’s being semi-strangled _by_. He taps out quicker than he normally would--he’s a stubborn son of a bitch, and he’ll be the first to admit it, but _thighs_ \--and Shimada lets him go a beat slower than necessary. Jesse hopes that’s the sadistic streak, not . . . whatever else it might be. 

They go again, even though Jesse _definitely_ knows better, and this time he don’t do anything stupid like go for the other’s prosthetics. Even if he were strong enough to damage the things, he’d have to actually _damage_ the things, and he really don’t wanna do that. A chokehold is perfectly suitable for his purposes. 

Well, it would be if he could pull it off, anyway. Which might be easier if he were a little less distracted. Shimada doesn’t weigh as much as a man his size should, but he’s still a tempting weight, and he doesn’t have much body heat, but Jesse’s still feeling overheated, and there’s a bird in his chest riding this out and Lupe’s cheering on the sidelines and all he actually wants is to pin Shimada to the mat and put his mouth on every inch of skin the man has left. 

Though he wouldn’t complain if it went the other way around, honestly. 

Jesse huffs out a breath and Shimada punches him in the head--with the metal hand, of _course_. 

“No fucking mercy in you at all, is there, sweetheart,” he laughs, wiping blood off his mouth. Shimada hits him twice more and tries to knee him in the gut, which answers _that_ question just fine. He’ll talk to other people around Jesse, at least a little, but he still won’t talk to _him_. 

Bastard’s still pretty good at getting his point across, either way. 

.

.

.

“Let’s go see Lupe,” Himari says as she preens her wing. 

“Why?” Genji asks with a frown, looking down at her where she’s sitting cupped in his hands. 

“Why not?” Himari says. 

“Because they’re a distraction,” Genji says. Obviously. 

“I don’t care,” Himari says. “Since when do _you_?” 

“You know,” Genji says, because of course she knows. Hell, probably _McCree_ knows. It’s not subtle. 

“He’s not going to keep us from killing Hanzo,” Himari says. “He might even help, if we asked.” 

_“Why?”_ Genji snorts. Himari sighs, resettling gingerly in his hands. 

“Why wouldn’t he?” she asks. “He’s helped us kill lots of people.” 

“He’s a distraction,” Genji says. “Besides, do you really think they’d look at us?” 

“. . . I don’t know,” Himari says softly. “I think they look at us a little. Even after seeing me.” 

“They haven’t seen me,” Genji says, lifting a hand to his mask. 

.

.

.

Shimada needs to start wearing normal clothes. The mismatched cyber-armor combined with the nature of his prosthetics makes it very hard to tell just how naked he actually is and Jesse is getting driven to goddamned _distraction_ trying to figure it out. Gabe would have his hide if he caught him thinking about a teammate like that, of course, but Gabe ain’t five foot seven of shuriken and spite, so Jesse don’t really give a damn about his opinion on the situation. 

. . . well, not _much_ of a damn. 

“He needs to wear pants,” Lupe says, watching mildly despairingly as Shimada drags out the day’s training bots. 

“Preaching to the choir, sweetheart,” Jesse tells her morosely, lighting his cigar. 

.

.

.

McCree keeps watching him like he wants something. 

Genji still can’t figure out what he could possibly want. 

.

.

.

Jesse thinks about the dark and what’s lurking in it, but what he’s really thinking about is the dull red glow casting shadows in it. He’d ask if Shimada could turn it off, but he’s pretty sure he already would’ve if he could. 

Assuming he wants them all to live, anyway. 

“You’re too bright,” Gabe says. 

“I don’t have a _dimmer_ switch,” Shimada says icily. 

“Just do something about it,” Gabe orders, turning his attention back to the street outside the crooked little King’s Row alley they’re trying to hide in. Moira hums, flexing her fingers in repetitive little gestures. 

“I might be able to do something about it,” she says speculatively, her eyes flicking down Shimada’s body. Shimada bristles, and the next thing Jesse knows the other’s grabbed him by the arm and yanked him flush against him, the both of them pressed together so tight that not a mote of light can escape from Shimada’s chest. 

“Uh,” Jesse manages, not sure if he hates his life or _loves_ it. Moira makes a mildly disappointed noise. 

“Just tell me when we’re ready to move,” Shimada says shortly, then shuts his glowing eyes. 

It just figures the first time the guy’d talk to him would be while Jesse himself was speechless. 

.

.

.

Genji wonders what it would take for McCree to pay him the kind of attention the stupid part of him wants. It’s not like he can just turn off the lights and McCree will forget what he looks like--what he’s _made_ of. _He_ can’t even do that. 

He can’t even do that for long enough to think about what it’d be like if McCree _could_ forget. He’s tried. It didn’t work. 

He can’t even imagine what it would feel like to be touched that way in this body. 

It’s not like there’s that much left of him to touch. 

.

.

.

Jesse watches Shimada walk away and _aches_. 

.

.

.

Genji walks away from McCree and _aches_. 

.

.

.

“Just _say_ something to him,” Lupe says. 

“I want to,” Jesse says, but they both know he won’t. They both know better than to let him, for one thing. Shimada is some smashed, sharp-edged thing that will only cut them, no matter how sweet the sparrow locked away in his chest is. Himari could be the sweetest daemon to ever _live_ and Jesse would still know better than to reach out and touch Shimada. 

It just ain’t safe. 

It just ain’t _smart_. 

It’d be the stupidest damn thing they could ever do, and every time they see Shimada, it’s all he can do to bite back the words. 

He wants to take a bite of him. He wants to eat him _alive_. He wants to pin him down and make him feel something _good_ , even if just for a moment. 

He wants Shimada to _let_ him pin down down and make him feel something good. He’s not sure how much of him there is left to touch, but given the chance he’d touch every inch of him, man and machine, skin and steel, and he’d do whatever it took to make it good for him. 

Shimada’d have to actually talk to him for that to work, of course. 

He’s still only done it the once, right before closing his eyes. Jesse hadn’t been able to stop himself from staring. 

Hadn’t wanted to stop himself from staring, he means. If it hadn’t been a mission, if it’d just been the two of them, if--if, if, _if_ \-- 

Jesse knows what Shimada’s body feels like against his body, and he’d swear to God he’d felt something flutter between their chests. 

.

.

.

They smash together on the gym floor and Genji regrets _every_ stupid part of him that thought sparring with McCree was a good idea. Actually _fighting_ McCree would be a better idea than sparring him. 

God, why does he always _smirk_ like that? 

Why is he _like_ that? 

He’d rather tear Jesse McCree in half than ever feel like this again, because of course it’s Jesse McCree making him feel like this. 

“Damn, you’re strong, sweetheart!” McCree laughs, and Genji hits him. McCree hits him back and Genji’s so angry he could _kill_ him, he swears to _fucking_ god he’s about to rip him to _shreds_ \-- 

“He’s so stupid,” Himari says with a sigh of delight. 

Genji hits McCree again, because it’s the only thing to do. 

.

.

.

Gabe is not impressed with Jesse’s current performance. Jesse don’t blame him a lick. 

“Angela said Lupe’s been acting strange,” Gabe says, which means Angela told him _everything_ , Jesus, so much for doctor-patient confidentiality. Not that he supposes that really applies, under the circumstances.

Still, she could’ve _warned_ him. 

“Well, she ain’t wrong,” he says. Lupe winces guiltily, and Alma fixes her with an intent stare. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Gabe says. 

“Already know what’s wrong,” Jesse replies with a shrug. “And it ain’t interfered with a mission yet.” 

“You want to wait until you get yourself shot?” Gabe asks. “Or get one of _us_ shot?” 

“. . . no, boss,” Jesse mutters, feeling all of seventeen again and exactly as stupid as he knows he’s been being. 

“Fix it,” Gabe orders. “Come back and tell me when you do. Consider yourself benched until then.” 

“Yes, boss,” Jesse mutters, and hates his life. How is he supposed to _fix_ something as stupid as a too-intense crush? 

Well, there’s really only one method left he ain’t tried yet. 

.

.

.

“Can we talk?” McCree asks as he approaches Genji in the hall. For once, Lupe doesn’t hurry ahead of him to circle Genji’s legs, which is--odd. He’d gotten used to that. “Metaphorically, for the record. You ain’t gotta say anything, just listen a bit.” 

Genji can’t see the harm in that, so he shrugs and waits to hear whatever McCree wants. Probably Lupe wants to talk to Himari again, or maybe McCree wants to know why she isn’t augmented like him, or-- 

“I’m sweet on you,” McCree says. “If you hadn’t noticed. We’ve been told we’re a mite strange in how we express our affections, so I wouldn’t be much surprised if you hadn’t.” 

Wait. What? 

Genji stares at him. McCree seems to take this as reason to go on. 

“In my defense, you’re just about the most merciless son of a bitch I ever did meet,” he says. “And you look about as good as--” 

“You don’t even know what I look like,” Genji cuts him off with. McCree seems surprised that he’s spoken, which . . . fair enough, really. 

“I kinda figured this _was_ how you looked,” he says. Genji touches his mask unthinkingly, and McCree tilts his head, pushing his hat back a bit. 

“That comes off?” he asks. 

“I _eat_ , for fuck’s sake,” Genji retorts sharply, though admittedly with cybernetics there’s plenty of other ways to keep a man alive. He sure as hell doesn’t eat the way he used to. Still--just, _still_. 

“Sorry.” McCree holds his hands up, Lupe whining guiltily at his feet. “I’ll be honest, I don’t rightly know the extent of your situation. Never particularly worried about it.” 

Genji feels nauseous, and draws himself up. Himari makes a faint noise in his ear; she sounds like she just flew into a window. 

“But you’re _sweet_ on me,” he says mockingly; McCree winces. 

“Well, you don’t gotta say it like _that_ ,” he says. “Ain’t like it matters, anyway. Though I gotta admit, getting a full conversation out of you over _this_ of all things is a surprise. I figured you’d just pull one of your usual escapes.” 

“Do people usually flee your confessions?” Genji asks. 

“You usually flee _small_ talk, sweetheart,” McCree says, and Genji scowls at him. “Small talk” is the last thing he cares about making time for, and it’s hardly comparable to a teammate showing up and presenting him his feelings like a schoolgirl with a crush. The ruined wreck he is, he can hardly wrap his head around the idea McCree has feelings in general, much less ones specifically directed at _him_. 

“You’re an idiot,” he says, feeling sick to his stomach as something like Himari flutters in his chest. 

“So I’m told. You gonna turn me down, or . . .?” McCree raises an eyebrow at him, casual and unaffected, and Genji feels a sudden fury. He only told him because he thought he’d say no anyway? Because he didn’t plan on actually following _through_? 

“Coward,” he spits. McCree laughs, then looks surprised. 

“Wait,” he says. “ _Are_ you gonna--” 

A year ago, Genji would’ve kissed him into shutting up. In this body, that’s not so easy. Instead he grabs him by the jaw and digs his fingers in. McCree curses--maybe in surprise but maybe in pain, Genji’s not sure. He used the cybernetic hand; it’s harder to judge his grip strength with. 

If he left fingerprint-bruises on McCree, that might be enough to calm him down. 

Might. 

“Coward,” he says again, and McCree looks down at him with dark, lovely eyes and a barely-parted mouth and--

“We ain’t pretending otherwise,” Lupe says, and Genji feels her drag her flank along the back of his prosthetics, just tall enough to miss the knives. What _is_ she, anyway? A dog, a wolf, a coyote, a mutt? “But we ain’t throwing stones from a glass house neither.” 

“Mind your manners, darlin’,” McCree says. 

“Just keep _talking_ ,” Himari sighs, and Genji realizes that he, of course, is the only one who can hear this entire conversation. He’s the only one hearing that dreamy, smitten tone in Himari’s voice. 

That’s--better. That’s better. 

But . . . 

“Does the mask come off or not?” Lupe says. 

_“Lupe--”_

“Not here,” Genji says, and lets go of McCree’s face. 

.

.

.

Jesse genuinely could not tell anyone who asked how they wind up in his bunk, but they wind up in his bunk. He’d turn on the light, but Shimada already glows soft red in the dark and between that and the few rays of late-afternoon light creeping in through the one small window--well, it’s light enough to see a bit by, and “a bit” seem to be all Shimada wants him seeing anyway. 

They’re standing as close as they’ve ever stood, and they’re both cowards, because neither’s doing whatever it is they came here to do. Jesse knows what _he_ came here to do. He thinks he even knows what Shimada came here to do. 

Neither of them’s doing a damn thing, of course. 

Lupe steps forward, pushes against the side of Shimada’s leg, and snaps her teeth. Shimada’s eyes go tight and stressed and Jesse just wants to--just wants-- 

“Ain’t you gonna let me see her?” Lupe asks. Shimada twitches. The light around his chestplate seems to glow a little brighter, or maybe it’s just that Jesse’s paying more attention to it now. 

“You don’t have to,” he says. Shimada might run right out the door at any moment; he doesn’t want to give him an excuse to. 

“You _ought_ to, mind,” Lupe says. 

“You are the most singularly demanding daemon I have ever met,” Shimada says. 

“And you’re the most singularly merciless man I ever knew,” Lupe says, sitting down to scratch impatiently behind her ear. She really does make it so _hard_ to be easy-going. “Well? You gonna let me see her or not?” 

“Not,” Shimada says, and reaches up to tip Jesse’s hat back as Lupe growls unhappily. Normally he’d expect to get kissed after a gesture like that, but of course Shimada’s still in the mask. 

“Then what’re you here for, Shimada?” he asks, searching those glowing eyes and finding too much to make sense of in them. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Shimada says, and cups Jesse’s face in his hands like he really _will_ kiss him, but still doesn’t. 

Jesse figures that’s all the invitation he’s getting, though, and leans in and kisses the other’s mask himself. Shimada makes a sound, his fingers digging in against Jesse’s face, and he’s frankly amazed not to be pushed away. 

Shimada doesn’t push him away, though, so Jesse mouths along the sharp-edged metal covering his jaw and puts his hands on his hips, pulling him in close enough to smother the light between them. 

“What’s _wrong_ with you,” Shimada says, more disgust than actual question in the words. Jesse might be offended, if he were the sort of man to get offended. What he _actually_ is is the sort of man to drop a kiss in the narrow space of visible skin left next to Shimada’s eye. 

This’ll get Shimada out of his system, he tells himself. This’ll do it, where all other tactics have failed. 

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says, and kisses the mask again. Shimada’s hands stutter, slip back and tangle in his hair and fist _tight_. Jesse takes that as encouragement and pulls their hips flush. Shimada’s fingers _scratch_. 

Lupe makes a dissatisfied noise, but Jesse doesn’t have the time to soothe her. Shimada’s going to hit a point where he runs, and he wants to get as much of him as possible before they get there. If that doesn’t include Himari, well--he’s sorry, but he _ain’t_ sorry enough to stop. So he kisses that mask and he slides his hands up Shimada’s sides, not sure if the other’s even feeling them, and breathes a bit too hard and holds him tight. 

Shimada’s respirator is kicking up, at least, so--well, he’s got that much. 

“Goddamn, I’ve wanted to get my hands on you for _months_ ,” Jesse says. Shimada makes a scornful noise, but when Jesse buries his face in his shoulder he tips his head to make room for his mouth, and every little nip and bite makes his breath come a little faster. Jesse wonders if Himari can hear his heartbeat in there. His, Shimada’s--it doesn’t really matter. 

“You always move this slow?” Shimada asks irritably, and shoves him back. Jesse’s legs hit the bed hard and he falls backwards onto it, hat knocked askew and knees knocked open. He’d think it was a rejection, except Shimada’s on the mattress between his legs before he’s even caught his breath, skimming his hands up and down his chest. Jesse pushes into the contact, because he ain’t no damn fool, and Shimada curls his fingers in the fabric of his serape. “You wear too much.” 

“Darlin’, you’re in my bed in _body_ armor,” Jesse says wryly, and Shimada pushes him down flat against the mattress. 

“ _Mine_ doesn’t come off,” he says irritably, and Jesse blinks up at him as he sets his hat aside on the nightstand before the poor thing can get crushed. 

“None of it?” he asks, a little incredulous. 

“Not enough of it,” Shimada says, dragging his serape off and immediately going for the fastenings of his tac gear. Jesse’s not complaining. 

“If you want me naked that bad, you know you could’ve asked any time,” he says mildly. Shimada gives him a dirty look. 

“Fuck you,” he says, and nearly tears Jesse’s shirt getting it off him. Jesse laughs--can’t help it--and undoes his belt buckle before the guy gets too carried away. Shimada doesn’t do anything that’ll expose any helpful part of himself, so--

“Tell me how to touch you, sweetheart,” Jesse says, running a hand up the other’s stomach and trying not to sigh in satisfaction over such a little thing. “Just tell me what to do.” 

Shimada gets a strange, terrible look in his eyes, and then spits out, “I don’t _know_.” 

There’s a lot of reactions Jesse could have to that, but . . . 

“Okay then,” he says, leaning up to kiss the other’s chest--the left side, obviously. Not anything as intimate as the plate hiding Himari. “I guess just deck me if I fuck up, then.” 

“I should deck you anyway,” Shimada says spitefully, but when Jesse traps him between his knees and rolls him over, he goes. Jesse’s not the particular sort; he’s not gonna complain about a little bit of fuss. 

“How’s this?” he asks, pushing a hand down the curve of the other’s neck and his mouth into the other side. Shimada kicks him, but only barely hard enough to hurt. Jesse’s not sure how to take it. “Darlin’, you gotta give me _something_ to go on here--” 

“Don’t _stop_ ,” Shimada snarls, and drags him back down. 

Alright, then. 

.

.

.

McCree has no idea how to touch him and Genji has no idea how to be touched. It’d be a lot easier if he’d ever talked to Ziegler about this, probably, but the few times she’d brought it up he’d laughed in her face. The idea he’d ever find himself in this situation again--he can’t even believe it _now_ , with McCree in his lap and touching him just about every place he can reach. He definitely hadn’t believed it sitting half-healed in Ziegler’s office with all his wounds on display. 

There’s things he _does_ know he could do--armor he could take away, not the least of which is the mask--but he doesn’t want to. Part of him thinks it’s bad enough McCree can touch any part of him at all. 

He doesn’t really want to figure out what it’d take to chase the other off, but he wouldn’t be surprised if letting him see just how much of him isn’t a real man anymore would do it. He’s too stitched-together, too many wires and not enough veins, too fucked up and too _complicated_ , and there’s nothing in him worth looking for. 

It’ll just be this once. Just once and it’ll get it out of his system. McCree’ll know better after this, anyway. 

His room is nothing like Genji’s room. 

“Ain’t you a sight,” McCree rumbles, tangling their legs up and pushing a leg between his thighs. Genji considers telling him there’s no real point, but--doesn’t. What’s left of his body is sparking hot, demanding more, and he doesn’t know exactly how to give it to it. Doesn’t have the slightest _idea_ how, in fact. 

“Shut up,” he says, reaching down to shove at the other’s pants and worming his flesh and blood hand between them. When in doubt, make sure your partner’s feeling too good to care. 

“Shit,” McCree says, and Genji squeezes his cock. _“Shit!”_

“You’re welcome,” Genji replies dryly, giving him a few quick strokes. This at least he can still do without worrying about it. McCree groans, and Genji feels heat clutch in his synthetic guts. It’s not a real feeling--it’s the same thing as a phantom pain--but he feels it all the same. 

“Damn, sweetheart,” McCree breathes, and then Genji’s getting kissed all over his mask and throat and has no idea if he likes it or hates it. He can’t imagine knowing _anything_ he felt about McCree at this point. 

He’ll worry about it later, he tells himself, squeezing McCree tight and stroking him harder. He does it quick and dirty-brutal, because he’s merciless, isn’t he, and McCree pants and moans on top of him and probably fogs up his mask. 

“Hold up, what’re you in such a rush for?” McCree practically wheezes. The list of reasons to already be done and gone is longer than Genji’s _arm_ , but all he does is twist his wrist and push his thumb up over the head of the other’s cock and squeeze just _so_ \--”Hell!” 

McCree comes all over Genji’s human fingers and inhuman stomach, and part of him thinks it’s the hottest thing he’s seen in years and part of him wants to _vomit_. He’s not real, he’s not a real person, not anymore, he’s just some fake and miserable monster of--

“You ain’t gonna be done with me that easy, darlin’,” McCree says, and the next thing Genji knows he’s got his legs over the man’s shoulders and is watching him lick his own come off his stomach. 

Right. It’s the hottest thing he’s _ever_ seen, and he’s _definitely_ going to throw up. Genji slams his head back into the mattress and covers his face _(what’s left of his face)_ and McCree--McCree starts fucking _experimenting_. He touches Genji’s armor and the plates of his body, touches the spaces in-between both, the vulnerable cracks in his machinery, and his own breath picks up. He can’t tell if it’s because of how it feels or what it could _mean_. No one’s examined him this closely but Ziegler, and Ziegler’s the one who put him _together_. Someone else learning the smartest place to slide a knife is . . . 

“I got you, darlin’,” McCree says, and kisses the pale metal at the crook of his thighs. Genji isn’t even sure if he really feels it or just thinks he does, but it _burns_. 

“I hate you,” he says. 

“I expected as much,” McCree says, and drops another kiss against his thigh. Genji trembles, and it’s all he can do to keep the knives and shuriken inside. McCree strips off his gloves and comes back with clever fingers feeling him out, probably looking for a latch or a way inside and Genji just presses his hands over his mask and squeezes his eyes shut. This isn’t safe. This is too much. This is-- 

Fur brushes against the side of his face with a strange warmth, and he opens his eyes just enough to see Lupe on the mattress, standing next to his head and staring down at him. McCree seems unconcerned about whatever the hell his daemon is up to and his clever fingers slide someplace _very_ sensitive and _oh_ \--

Lupe shoves at his face with a paw and the next thing Genji knows he’s got a daemon tucked under his head like a pillow and this is _very fucking different_ from the last time he touched her. 

“Lupe!” he protests automatically, grabbing at her with his cybernetic hand. She snaps her teeth at it. She’s too _close_. 

“You won’t listen to me, why should I listen to you?” she says rudely, her tail curving around his throat. 

_“McCree!”_

“You two really wanna interrupt me right now?” McCree asks with a sigh, his fingers going someplace even more sensitive. Genji nearly bites his tongue in half trying not to yell. Hell. _Hell_. 

He wants to tell him to stop. He wants to kick him in the fucking _head_. He wants him to keep doing what he’s doing, because McCree seems to have a much better idea what’s going to feel good than he does himself. 

“Who’s interrupting?” Lupe huffs, and Genji turns his head and buries his face in her fur. This is too much. This is fucking _miles_ too much. 

This feels so _good_. 

He didn’t think he could feel like this. 

McCree keeps touching him; finds all the little places that set him off. Lupe doesn’t move. Genji feels all lit up like a firecracker, like he’s about to burst into light. McCree apparently isn’t satisfied with just that, because he just keeps _going_ , the bastard, slipping his fingers in under plates and into his cracks and taking him apart. 

Literally, even. 

“ _There_ we fucking go,” McCree says as he finally finds the latch for his codpiece and pulls it away. Genji almost kicks him off, except McCree swallows down the ugly little silicone device that replaced his cock so quick and so _tight_ \-- 

“Fuck,” Genji chokes out, his cybernetic fingers twisting in Lupe’s fur and his real ones immediately flying to McCree’s hair. He can’t even tell the difference, with as little feeling as he has in the former. McCree sucks him off like a man on a mission, greedy and gluttonous about it, and Genji briefly regrets not taking his time on the man himself, not taking him apart when he had the chance. He’d thought this was going to be _quick_ , in and out and nothing more. He hadn’t thought he’d end up writhing against the mattress with McCree’s head in his lap or his daemon behind his head. 

He hadn’t thought he _could_. 

“There we go,” Lupe hums, her tail thumping against his shoulder a few times. She puts a paw over his chestplate, and Genji _shudders_. 

“Please?” Himari asks quietly, and he doesn’t--and he can’t--and he _just_ \-- 

His chest plate opens, and he’s not sure if he did it on purpose or not. Lupe makes a thrilled sound, her paw hooking the edge of the compartment--her paw _reaching into him_ \--and Himari twitters songbird-sweet up at her. 

“Look at you, pretty,” Lupe says with a grinning canine leer. “Guess Jesse’s doing alright, then!” 

“It’s nice,” Himari says softly, and Genji feels her nudge up against Lupe’s paw and feels dizzy, dizzy, _wild_. “He feels good.” 

Himari always was the worst about selling him out. 

.

.

.

Jesse tries to ignore the fact that their daemons are touching, but their daemons are touching and Shimada is touching _his_ daemon and it is overwhelmingly good, it feels _amazing_. He might just come again, is how good it feels. He wants to get his hands all over the man, wants to touch him every place he’ll stay still for, wants--

Way too damn much for a “getting this out of his system” fuck. 

This ain’t ending well, he thinks, but that doesn’t stop him from pushing his hands up Shimada’s sides and swallowing around the cock in his mouth. It doesn’t take much more to get the other cursing and coming apart underneath him. Jesse can’t imagine how he held out as long as he did, under the circumstances. 

He licks his lips and smooths a hand down Shimada’s thigh as he straightens up, and Shimada just lays there and pants into Lupe’s fur and goddamn, watching him do that is . . . god _damn_. 

This has not fixed his problem. Honestly, this might’ve just made his problem worse. 

_That’ll_ be fun to explain to Gabe. 

“You’re a fucking treat, sweetheart,” he says, and if it comes out a bit reverent--well, then that’s just the way it comes out. Shimada groans, throwing an arm across his eyes. 

Jesse wishes he’d take the mask off. He doesn’t mind it--until today, it was just a part of Shimada’s face--but if there’s a way to kiss him, he wants it. 

God, he really is the _stupidest_ man alive. 

“I don’t understand you at all,” Shimada says. Jesse skims a hand up his stomach and licks his lips again. Shimada doesn’t smell like blood and machine oil right now; he smells like sex and come. And metal, admittedly. 

“Didn’t ask you to,” he says. “Wanna put Himari someplace a little safer?” 

“Safer?” Shimada moves his arm just enough to frown at him. 

“Didn’t I say?” Jesse asks, letting his eyes trail down the other’s body, all the mismatched bits and pieces of him. “You ain’t gonna be done with me that easy.” 

“You want to go _again_?” Shimada asks incredulously. 

“Darlin’, I want to go all _night_ ,” Jesse says. He’ll get this once, he thinks; Shimada will run away after this. And if he’s only getting it once . . . “I’m willing to negotiate about morning sex.” 

“You’re-- _ridiculous_ ,” Shimada says, and Jesse catches his hand and kisses the inside of his wrist. For some reason, Shimada looks stricken by the gesture. 

“What?” Jesse asks, raising an eyebrow at him. “That all you got, partner?” 

“. . . find me a fucking pillow, cowboy.” 

.

.

.

McCree’s room is nothing like Genji’s room. They’re the same size, the same shape, the same setup, but they’re nothing alike. McCree’s things are strewn about, not messily but with an undeniable sense of _clutter_ , and his bed is covered in more blankets and pillows than any one man should be reasonably expected to need, and unexpectedly colorful ones at that. There’s art and posters on his walls and doors and little knick-knacks with no purpose but to take up space on his shelves and dog toys in a pile in the corner next to a pile of pillows just Lupe’s size that she’s all curled up in. 

Genji catalogues all these differences as the dim morning light slants in through the window, and he wonders how he’s still here. He’s starving. He’s exhausted. He’s missed an appointment with Ziegler, and he’s fairly certain they’re _both_ late for a briefing. 

But McCree is sleeping on the soft side of his chest and Himari is sleeping tucked up in the curve of Lupe’s neck, and he’ll be damned if he can find the willpower to move. 

“Hey,” Lupe says quietly. Genji twitches; can’t help it. “Yeah, figured you weren’t gonna sleep. You okay?” 

What kind of question _is_ that, Genji wonders. She knows just how thoroughly McCree took him apart, just how many pieces he peeled off him. Even if she didn’t, she’d be able to see it right now. Hell, there’s a piece of his armor on the floor right in _front_ of her. 

“Okay,” she says. He just looks at her for a long, long time. 

He wants to say something, but what would he even say? 

.

.

.

Jesse wakes up to Shimada putting his armor back on, to his complete lack of surprise, and indulges himself by letting himself watch. Shimada makes a damn pretty picture like that, so he’s not complaining. 

“You heading out?” he asks. 

“We are late for the briefing,” Shimada says. 

“Shit,” Jesse groans, immediately rolling off the bed. Gabe’s gonna know. Doesn’t matter what they do, Gabe’ll take one look at ‘em and know. Hell, _Moira_ will probably know. “You know you still look like you got rode hard and put away wet, right, darlin’?” 

Shimada gives him a look that _screams_ “do you think I give a fuck?” Jesse’s crush gets just that little bit worse, damn his luck. This was supposed to _help_ that. 

He should’ve known better. Nothing he’s tried to do to get over Shimada has worked like it was supposed to. 

“Well, it was nice knowing you,” he says, and just barely resists the urge to reach over and touch the other. “Boss is gonna kill me dead the moment he sees me, so watch out for the blood spatter.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Shimada says, and Jesse reaches over and touches him after all, reeling him in to kiss that mask that never came off, not for anything. He’s not sure if that’s related to the respirator or not. Shimada makes a surprised sound, his eyes widening, and Jesse smirks at him. 

“Anybody ever tell you you’re real easy to fluster, darlin’?” he asks, pushing his hand across the small of the other’s back. 

“We’re late,” Shimada says, his voice sounding a little strange. 

“You are the _last_ person in the world I would expect to care about that,” Jesse says wryly. 

“Maybe I have more use for you alive,” Shimada says, and Jesse can’t help but laugh. Was that flirting, or sincere? He honestly can’t tell. 

“Then we’d better move our asses,” he says, grabbing his hat. 

“. . . you could at least put _pants_ on first.” 

.

.

.

They both get ready, Genji tucks Himari into the safe space in his chest, and Lupe trots around their feet and nearly trips them both more than once. They don’t bother pretending they’re not coming from the same direction at the same time. There’s no point insulting anyone on base’s intelligence that way. Genji isn’t thrilled to know half of Overwatch is sure to know about this by noon, in no small part because that might require talking to Ziegler about it. Or worse, the _psychiatrists_. 

“That was nice,” Himari murmurs wistfully. “We should do that again.” 

“Not likely,” Genji snorts, because he’s smart enough to know better than to expect McCree to come back for seconds. McCree gives him a questioning look, but doesn’t ask what he’s talking about. They arrive at the briefing room together--obviously--and Reyes and O’Deorain and their daemons are--equally obviously--already there. Genji considers pretending he cares enough to make up an excuse, but he really doesn’t give a fuck. He’s already been murdered for this kind of thing once; it’s not like Reyes could do worse to him. 

Besides, this isn’t a pattern of behavior anymore, just the ghost of one. 

“You’re late,” Reyes says. 

“Sorry, boss,” McCree says with a wince. 

“You with us, kid?” Reyes asks, strangely. Genji frowns, not understanding the question. 

“Yeah, boss,” McCree says. 

“Alright,” Reyes says, then calls up a map and video of a smoking ruin, the matter apparently closed. “There’s been an attack on the Rome facility. Talon’s responsible.” 

“What?” McCree says. 

“Unfortunate,” O’Deorain says, drumming her nails on the table. 

“That’s a word for it,” Reyes says, his lip curling; Alma snorts. “I want all three of you ready to go in thirty minutes. We’re in Rialto by tonight.” 

“What’s in Rialto?” McCree asks with a frown 

“Antonio Bartalotti. Or Giordani. Whatever alias he’s going by this time,” Reyes says. “We’re bringing him in.” 

“Who?” Genji asks in bemusement, not recognizing the name. 

“We’ll fill you in on the ride,” Reyes says. “Meet me in the hangar in thirty.” 

They split up and go their separate ways. It wasn’t much of a briefing, but Genji supposes it hadn’t needed to be. He doesn’t need anything he isn’t already wearing or carrying, but a shower would be smart. God forbid any important servos or anything get _sticky_. 

“You can wash up in mine,” McCree says to him, and for some reason he does. 

He’s never been to Rialto. He wonders what’s so important about the place. 

He supposes it doesn’t matter. It’s just another mission, after all. 

.

.

.

On the plane, Jesse wonders how long it’s been since Himari really saw the sky. 

.

.

.

On the plane, Genji wonders just what Lupe actually is.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://suzukiblu.tumblr.com/)


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